


if i'm lost, it's only for a little while

by dearly



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 08:16:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7566898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearly/pseuds/dearly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Killian Jones has spent his whole life navigating through storms, both real and personal. Though he has made peace with his past, he still yearns for something more. When bad weather brings surprise visitors to his lighthouse, he starts to feel hope in the possibility of love once again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if i'm lost, it's only for a little while

**Author's Note:**

> Written for CS AU Week. Day 7: Free for all.
> 
> A non-magic, modern day AU with lighthouse keeper!Killian.
> 
> Title comes from the song [“Monsters” by Band of Horses](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5uB0gQr3zSM).

As he stepped out into the cool night air, thunder rumbled in the distance before the echo spread its warning across the vast sky above him. The atmosphere had grown thick with the expectancy of the coming rain and filled his chest with a damp, but invigorating, chill. As a flash of lightning lit up the sky, he could just make out the white caps of the waves begin to multiply as the wind picked up and swirled through the rocky shoreline before heading back out to sea.

Storms came as a second nature to Killian Jones. Memories of their power were ingrained in the very fibers of his being. They seemed destined to define the most critical moments in his life both in serving punishment as well as providing him with a reason for existing. The give and take of nature, the fury and the beauty so often intertwining to create a multitude of significant seconds in his relatively short life. A life that was spent navigating tempests more than calm.

 

* * *

 

At age six, he remembered running outside in the midst of an thunderstorm and feeling the vibrations in the earth from the nearby lightning strikes work their way through his body and rattle his bones. His parents had dragged him back indoors and scolded him thoroughly for being careless about his safety. But the discipline had come too late - the thrill and _the need_ for danger had already taken hold of his soul.

His teenage years were spent always in search of the next peril. Living along the water with only a small, sleepy town nearby meant that this often consisted of taking the family boat out into the ocean as a storm hit the shore. He’d grown adept at maneuvering through choppy seas and high winds and felt an incomparable high when he was being tossed and turned with the waves. Nothing made him feel more alive than when he was fighting for survival and beating the odds. With reckless abandon and an almost animalistic urge, he would yell at the sky and beg for more.

But a single incident had put an end to this invincible fantasy. On the eve of his eighteenth birthday, the cusp of his adulthood, he had taken the boat out during a storm as he had so many times previously, but on this particular occasion the result was disaster. It hadn’t even been a particularly bad storm, certainly not the worst he’d ever been out in, but the wind had been strong enough to snap a worn metal beam that held the pulley system for the lobster traps catching him unaware. Before he could react, the jagged metal had crashed down onto his left hand, slicing deep into his wrist and shattering the bones with a dull thud. For a stunned moment the world halted as he stared down at a bleeding horror that did not seem a part of reality. And then the pain hit - blinding, torturous agony that still haunted him.

When the doctors explained that they wouldn’t be able to save his hand, Killian had simply nodded and told them to get on with it.

In a fraction of a second his life had changed forever, but he felt _nothing_.

Gradually the initial numbness and melancholy wore away and were replaced by a lengthy period of anger. At himself, at the cursed fate that had brought this on him. But this misery faded also. After years spent in self-analysis, he had finally accepted the loss of his hand as a sort of punishment for all the self-destructive sins of his youth. He’d always been selfish, always had put his own needs first – whether it had been moving from one girl to the next not caring about breaking hearts, disobeying his parents at every given chance, treating his life as a game without considering the feelings of his family and friends around him – and it had finally caught up with him.

But his life wasn’t over. How many others like him had died as a result of their selfish blindness? He’d been given a second chance to make his life worthwhile, to mean _something_. He was a survivor.

His brother had told him that he hadn’t deserved it, no matter what sins he’d committed in the past. _Liam_. Even to this day, Killian missed his brother so much he thought sometimes that he just might dissolve into a pile of ashes and be swept away by the wind.

Shortly after Liam’s death, his parents decided to pick up and move to Boston to give the family a clean start. But Killian had remained behind in Storybrooke. He didn’t want a new beginning in a strange place - he wanted to set things right in the place he’d grown up in, where the people he’d known forever could witness that he was capable of changing. He wanted to be the man that Liam always knew he would be.

Instead of going off to college like the rest of his peers, he’d taken over the family fishing business and picked up odd jobs around town to make ends meet. Once people had seen the changes he’d made they began offering more work and shortly the name of Killian Jones became a trusted one in the community.

One day while making a delivery outside of town, he had unknowingly taken a detour and found himself at a run-down lighthouse a mile up the coast from Storybrooke. The keeper, Marco, was a stubborn, elderly man who had let the place fall into ruins after refusing help when his health faltered. Killian was instantly drawn to the place with its scenic overlook and offered to buy it on the spot - his entire life savings - but Marco refused.  He’d returned the next day and the next until several weeks had passed. Each time Killian made the same offer and each time he was given the same refusal. He finally gave up on the offers when he realized the older man was just as stubborn as he was, but the visits had created an unlikely friendship between the pair and Killian continued to check in on Marco whenever his work allowed.

Several months after their initial meeting, Killian had shown up for his usual visit and discovered that Marco had suffered a fall. As he was being loaded into the ambulance, Marco handed him a folded letter. It was his will granting Killian immediate ownership of the lighthouse and cottage. Marco had known that he wouldn’t be returning.

The cottage was beyond repair so Killian had torn it down and set to work building it again, keeping some of the original aspects in tribute to his friend while still making it his own. The lighthouse was in far better condition after being tending to so faithfully for decades and only needed a fresh coat of paint and some minor electrical work.

He’d finally found it. His home. His sanctuary. His purpose.

He knew he would never be able to repay the world for Marco’s kindness, but at least he would be able to do some good in taking over his work. Modern technology and GPS systems might have decreased their need, but Killian knew from experience and from other fisherman that a light shining in the distance could provide a lost soul with a powerful reminder that someone was out there and cared about their safety.

The sound of a female voice suddenly brought him out of his reverie. She was calling what sounded like a name, though he couldn’t quite make it out. There was an urgency in her voice that put Killian on full alert.

He stepped off the porch as the thunder now sounded directly overhead, threatening to release its fury upon them all.

His well-trained eyes scanned the horizon and soon spied a shadowy figure standing near the edge of the cliff, a flash of lightning revealed it to be a person of short stature - a young boy.

Not wanting to frighten him, he called out to the boy gently but loud enough to be hear over the thunder and tentatively made his way over.

The boy must have heard him because he turned around and as Killian grew nearer he realized he’d seen him before in town. It was the new mayor’s son. _Henry_.

Suddenly a young woman emerged over the hill sighing with relief when she saw that Henry was safe. Definitely _not_ Regina the mayor. _Interesting_ , he thought as the woman bent down and began fussing over the boy. Long yellow locks spilled out of a dark cap and tumbled down deep red leather-clad shoulders, somehow shimmering even in the dim light. Killian stood still and watched them, mesmerized by their tender familiarity with one another.

“Henry, are you sure you’re okay? You scared me for a second. I thought I told you not to get too close to the edge.”

Henry rolled his eyes in typical preteen fashion, a look Killian had given his parents too many times to count, but it was clear that he enjoyed the woman’s attention. She wasn’t just some ordinary babysitter. She meant something to the boy. They meant something to each other, the attachment was evident. “I’m _fine_ , Emma, as you can see. I just wanted to get the view from up here before it started raining.”

Another shuddering quake of thunder sounded.

“Well you just made in time, mate,” Killian answered. “But I’m afraid unless you’re parked nearby you won’t make it back before it starts.”

The woman rose to her full height, keeping a protective arm on the boy’s shoulder. “ _Parked_? Oh, no actually we hiked up here from Storybrooke. I guess we should’ve gotten an earlier start, but the rain kind of caught us by surprise.”

He nodded. “Aye, it’ll do that.”

And just as he spoke large drops slowly began descending from the darkness - just a hint of what was coming.

“You better come inside before we all get drenched.” Killian waved his arm for them to follow and started to walk back to the cottage, but Emma hesitated still holding onto Henry.

“I, um-”

He spun on his heels giving a friendly smile but keeping his words firm. “My name is Killian. Killian Jones. As the keeper of this lighthouse, it is my duty to protect people from storms and that includes those on land as well. Now please, I do insist that you both come in before it gets any more dangerous.”

“Please, can we Emma?” Henry pleaded, as he eagerly looked up at the light shining above them.

Emma exhaled loudly and then gave in with shrug. “Well, alright. I don’t really want to ruin this coat.”

They all ran to the door reaching it just as the skies opened up.

Once inside, Killian added another log to the already roaring fireplace and instructed his guests to lay their wet garments in front of it to dry.

“Thank you for this, Mr–”

“Killian,” he corrected.

Emma flashed a smile. “Killian. We really appreciate it. I’m Emma, by the way, Emma Swan. I’m the new sheriff in town. And this is my…I mean, this is Henry.”

“Henry Mills, I’ve seen you around town before,” the boy said offering his hand. When Killian reached over to shake it, it was his other hand, or lack thereof, that caught the boy’s attention.

“You’re the guy who’s missing-” he began to say before Emma cut in.

“ _Henry_ ,” she said sternly.

“It’s alright, it’s only the truth,” Killian said waving her off and grinning at both of them so they knew no harm was done. “I remember what it was like at that age and I would have been dying of curiosity myself.” He held up his left arm to show the boy his prosthetic attachment. “I lost it in a boating accident many years ago.”

“Oh,” Emma remarked softly with genuine concern. “I’m so sorry.”

“Well don’t be. You see learning to live without it has actually made me far stronger than I was before. In fact, this place,” he said gesturing at the room, “was built mainly with just this one hand. I had a little help with some of the tricky bits, but it gave me a challenge.”

He looked pointedly at Emma, eyes gleaming with mischief. “And I enjoy a good challenge.”

She cocked her head at him with a slight roll of her eyes but couldn’t hide a bit of pink creeping across her cheeks. While secretly enjoying her involuntary blush,  Killian pointing to the couch in front of the fireplace and bade Emma and Henry to warm themselves.

“This place is really nice,” Emma remarked looked around the room. “I mean, one hand or two or _fifty_ , it’s really impressive.”

Killian dipped his head at the complement, somehow knowing that a woman like Emma Swan did not freely give them away.

Henry joined Emma on the couch while his eyes focused on something that lay on the mantle. When Killian saw what had captivated the boy’s attention, he lifted it, blowing off some of the ancient dust that clung to the glass, and handed it to Henry to study up close. “A ship in a bottle. My great-great grandfather who was in the Royal Navy made that. It’s been passed down through the generations and now it’s my turn to watch over it.”

Emma clicked her tongue as she pulled her legs up onto the couch and hugged them to her chest. “So you _are_ British. I thought I detected an accent.”

Killian nodded and sat in the armchair near her side. “I was born there. My parents moved to Storybrooke when my brother and I were young. I lived here the majority of my life, but I’ve yet to lose it completely. Old habits die hard, I suppose.”

“Well, that’s not a bad one to have.” Was it just hopeful wishing or was Emma Swan flirting at him now?

“Oh? Do you like a man with an accent?” He inquired playfully, unable to resist testing it.

She scoffed in annoyance, but the shine in her eyes said otherwise.

This woman he’d just met five minutes ago was already causing a stirring in his chest, such a sensation he hadn’t felt in a long time. He’d sworn off love years ago during his darkest period - not because he didn’t want to find someone or that he didn’t think it possible, no Killian believed in love. The truth was that he didn’t feel he deserved it.

But Liam would have told him otherwise. And his brother would have definitely approved of this feisty sheriff.

Emma’s expression turned curious as she evidently picked up on this subtle change in his demeanor. _Was he really so obvious?_ Killian excused himself and headed to the kitchen to put the kettle on as a distraction. But when Emma showed up in the doorway seconds later, he knew it was no use hiding his delight. She could read him like a book. _And yet…_

“Can I do anything to help? I feel bad enough that we’re barging in on you like this.”

Killian set the kettle on the stove and pointed to one of the cupboards. “You can take a look in there and see if there’s any snacks that Henry likes. I have to admit I don’t really know what kids eat these days.”

While Emma’s back was turned, he cleared his throat and decided to ask point blank what had been nagging him since he’d first seen her. “Excuse my bluntness, but isn’t Henry Mayor Mills’ son?”

“Yes,” Emma said slowly dragging the word out as she pulled a package of Oreos from the shelf.

She hesitated a moment with her back turned before slowly turning around and leaning against the counter, meeting his eyes. “It’s…complicated.” A swallow and a deep breath. “The short answer is that I’m Henry’s birth mother.”

“Oh, I see,” Killian said softly. He waited for her to choose whether to elaborate on the subject or not. She did.

“I moved here recently to reconnect with him. Well, actually, Henry found me in Boston and brought me to Storybrooke – to my family.”

She shrugged. “I found I quite liked the town - well most of it anyways - and when I heard there was an opening for a sheriff I decided to stay.”

“I see,” Killian said again before the kettle whistled and forced his attention away from her.

He poured the tea and handed her one of the warm mugs. “Well I’m glad you did.” No flirting this time, just the honest truth.

The corner of her mouth flicked upward ever so slightly and caused another flutter in the pit of his stomach. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she nodded sharply and quickly left the kitchen with cookies in hand.

Killian took a moment to breathe and settle his heart rate before following behind. “Here you go, lad. Plenty of milk and sugar in yours.”

“Thanks,” Henry said gratefully accepting the warm drink.

They sat in silence for a few minutes watching the fire and enjoying the dry warmth as the storm raged on outside.

“So how long have you had this place?” Emma asked once they had all eaten and drank their fill.

Killian thought for a moment. “About six years now I suppose.”

“And how does one earn a living with a lighthouse?”

“One doesn’t unfortunately. I catch lobster and fish and do pretty much any other odd job around town I can find. I even fill in at the library occasionally when Belle needs help though computers aren’t really my area of expertise.”

“Can I go up in your lighthouse sometime?” Henry asked while failing to stifle a yawn. It was getting late but the storm had yet to let up.

“Of course. Come back when the weather’s better. I’ll show you all around. I can even take you out on my boat if you want.”

Emma put an arm around Henry’s shoulder and rubbed the back of his head. “Hey, kid. You getting sleepy?”

Henry nodded and leaned his head against Emma’s shoulder looking like me might drop at any moment.

It was only then that Killian realized it must have been past the boy’s bedtime. “Why don’t you stay the night? The lad’s tired and I’m afraid this storm doesn’t seem to be weakening anytime soon,” he offered.

Emma hesitated with the same look as when he’d first invited them in, but this time it was only a passing glance. In the brief time they’d spent together, they both had already shared bits of personal history and Killian sensed that Emma wasn’t the open book type. Her instinct had told her that she could trust him. A bond between them had already formed.  “Well, I suppose if it’s not too much trouble. It would sure make things easier.”

“No trouble whatsoever. I’m afraid the guest bed is only a twin. But you are both welcome to it. Or one of you can sleep on the couch. I have a bigger bed if you’d rather have that–”

“No, no we couldn’t inconvenience you like that. The guest room is fine. I can sleep on the couch. I’ve slept on many couches in my days and most of them weren’t anywhere near as nice, trust me.”

Killian nodded. “I’ll fetch you some more blankets. It gets a bit chilly in here at night.”

Once Henry was put to bed, he fell asleep instantly. Killian watched from the doorway as Emma kissed him goodnight. The moment felt almost too intimate for him to witness. There was a pang in his chest, a longing to somehow be a part of such a tight-knit family.

Emma saw him watching and carefully scooted off the bed before padding over to him in stocking feet.

“Thank you, Killian. It’s really kind of you to let a couple of strangers crash your house like this. I- _We_ really appreciate it.” Her whisper in the dark sent the hairs on his neck standing on end. The space between them felt charged.

“It’s no trouble. I don’t often have guests but this…this has been nice. I’m just glad I can be of assistance.”

Emma bit her bottom lip and gave him a dreamy look that send his head spinning. How long had it been since a woman had this kind of effect on him? Too long. Perhaps never.

He reached to the table that sat in the hallway which was scattered with various sizes of bottles and lifted the one containing his favorite rum. “Care for a nip?”

Emma opened her mouth and moved in closer, but too quickly stopped short and looked back into the room at the sleeping child. “Perhaps another time. Alone.”

Killian nodded and set the bottle back down. “I’ll look forward to it then. Goodnight. Emma.” The name on his lips felt so natural, like he’d been saying it for years.

She surprised him by squeezing his forearm, such a subtle, seemingly insignificant gesture but one he thought about long into the night. “Goodnight, Killian.”

At first morning’s light he rose to find Emma and Henry already awake and getting ready to depart.

“Can I tempt you with some breakfast? I make a rather mean omelet.”

“No, you’ve already done more than enough. I have to get back to town and we have quite a trek ahead of us.”

“Perhaps I can give you a lift then?”

“We like to walk,” Henry explained. “It’s our thing.” He beamed up at Emma. Emma smiled down at him and tousled his hair before pulling him in for a quick hug.

Killian cleared his throat, trying to fight back whatever it was he felt at the sight of them together. “I understand. Well I’m sure it’ll be a nice one. You can’t beat the sunrise from up here.”

Henry retrieved their coats and turned to Killian. “Thank you for letting us stay in your house. It’s real neat and I think it’s cool that you built it on your own.”

“You’re very welcome and I meant what I said about the lighthouse. Come back anytime, lad.”

“I will. See you around, Killian,” he called out as he ran outside one last look atop the cliff.

Emma stayed behind, pausing on the step. “That invitation extends to you too, Emma. Anytime.”

She pulled her hat over her hair that had somehow turned even more golden in the light of the dawn. “I’ll take you up on that offer.”

“Soon?” he asked as she started to walk off, knowing he probably sounded desperate but not really caring.

She paused and smiled teasingly. “Soon.” Her gaze lingered for a moment, the light of the morning creating a halo around her,  before she walked down the path and joined Henry. With a final wave back at Killian, they made their descent back down the hill and were soon out of eyesight.

Killian dug his hands into his jeans pockets and walked to the edge of the cliff to watch the sun rise over the horizon.

Another storm had come and gone. The only trace of it remaining was the damp ground he stood on.

And yet something less tangible also now existed where it hadn’t before. The hint of a new beginning, the hope of things to come - whatever it was he allowed himself enjoy the feeling. It had been far too long. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [dreamswans](http://dreamswans.tumblr.com) on tumblr. Come say hi!


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